


Symbiosis

by chunni



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Confusion, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Post-World War II, Prussia is East Germany, Sad, Self-Hatred, kinkmeme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chunni/pseuds/chunni
Summary: In which Prussia doesn’t want to have sex with Russia but has it anyway and Russia doesn’t understand what’s happening but figures if it makes Prussia feel more at home he might as well go along with it.Neither of them is happy with their decision.
Relationships: Prussia/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Symbiosis

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill of [this](https://hetalia-kink.dreamwidth.org/84699.html?thread=514186971#cmt514186971) prompt:  
> Prussia, trapped behind the Wall, is convinced Russia's going to rape him. He decides to force the issue and get it over with. Russia, however, wasn't going to, thinks all the horrible things he does do are helping, has no idea what Prussia's talking about, possibly doesn't even understand sex very well (as I've seen in a played-for-laughs version which I'd love to twist), and is too confused to stop him. Both end up feeling violated and with no idea that wasn't the other's intention.
> 
> (I didn't write the truth-comes-out part of it because I couldn't see them talking about it afterwards. Perhaps I'll add it in the future.)
> 
> I thought it was a really intriguing concept (different from your usual Prussia/Russia non-con which I'm really tired of at the moment) and I've always loved to write conflicted characters, so I ended up writing yet another rare pair smut OS. However, I want to stress smut isn't the focus of this story. Both characters don't want to have sex but they're misinterpreting the other's intentions and it's really depressing and dark. (Why do I always seem to be drawn to writing these kinds of prompts? I really need to write some fluff now...)
> 
> If anything about this prompt triggers you and/or if you're a minor, please don't read this story!
> 
> [Kind reminder that I'm not a native speaker and I didn't spend much time editing (I'm always grateful for errors to be pointed out!).]

**Symbiosis**

~

_August 1961_

It was going to happen that evening, Prussia was sure of it.

When he ran a hand through his hair, just barely grazing the cold sweat clinging to his neck, his fingers felt numb and stiff as if he were wearing thick gloves. He wondered if he were able to grasp as much as a glass of water like this. A shaky sigh left his lips, a strangled chuckle.

This was crazy. It had to happen sooner or later, he had known it from the start. From the day they had dragged him away in chains, separated from the only family he had, from the day he had lost himself, his kingdom, from the day he had gained a strange replacement, as wrong as ill-fitting clothes, occupied by him, he had only waited for Russia to make a move.

Prussia had been alive long enough to know it wasn’t uncommon. In war there were always two parties fighting each other until there was a victorious one and the one they had defeated. If you took part in it, you inevitably ended up winning or losing, there was no in between, there was no trying to talk yourself out of the mess. Call it punishment, call it justice, but you had to face the consequences. Whatever those were.

The Baltic States hadn’t said anything about it, of course not, but that wasn’t necessary. The way they were trembling whenever Russia’s was mentioned, the way they lowered their gazes whenever they were in the same room with him… there was only one possible reason for it.

It was a logical conclusion and, really, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Still, when Russia had asked, or rather ordered, him to have dinner with him, just the two of them, Prussia had almost spit out the water he had been drinking. Confusion had soon turned into fear and anxious anticipation when he had realised what a private rendezvous with Russia would, had to, entail.

Prussia knew he wasn’t happy with the people of East Germany, the GDR, and how they had been flocking to the West, to his brother, and wasn’t it funny how he, who should have been the one to stop them, would have done anything to join them?

They had closed the borders now and they wouldn’t stop there. A wall, no longer mere talks behind closed doors but a dawning reality. Soldiers and tanks guarding borders which shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Prussia gulped, his heart clenching as if someone were squeezing, twisting, turning. How long until he wouldn’t even be able to see his brother anymore? 

No, it really couldn’t be a coincident that Russia wanted to have a dinner with him on this of all days. Though, knowing what would happen didn’t make it easier for him. It made it even worse, perhaps, as he knew there wasn’t anything he could do to prevent this, to defend himself. As much as he hated this situation, everything from this terrible war onward really, he knew he did belong to Russia now. Human laws didn’t apply to countries and even if they did, who would try to speak out for him? His brother, barely less weakened and scorned than Prussia himself?

No, he couldn’t hope for anyone to help him. He had to go through this alone. However, while he had no say in the matter itself, he was able to choose how to approach it.

Taking a deep breath, Prussia clenched his hands and straightened his back. The mattress he had chosen to sit upon while drowning in his own thoughts quivered when he rose, his legs weak and cold after hours of disuse.

He was tired and miserable and feeling as if he had lost too much to ever feel whole again, but he refused to be scared of Russia, no matter what. If it was going to happen, he would make sure Russia wouldn’t get any satisfaction out of it and they would get it done with as quickly as possible. No anxious anticipation, no nervously circling the room and flinching at every sudden noise anymore. There was a rush of adrenaline, the urge to both laugh and cry, and Prussia opened the door.

Walking the hallways, he didn’t meet anyone else, his steps the only sound reaching his ears. The lack of company made him wonder when he had last been alone with Russia. He couldn’t remember. Not good. Grimacing he forced himself to pick up his pace, already about fifteen minutes too late, trying to make up some time, and maybe also trying to keep his mind from wandering off again.

He stopped just in front of today’s designated dining room, which shouldn’t have been that close to Russia’s quarters, right? Taking a deep breath, he tried to lose enough tension to keep a straight face, only then entering.

Prussia had expected the dinner to be an excuse, so it was a surprise when he glimpsed plates and cutlery on top of a burgundy tablecloth, a bouquet of sunflowers in their midst. It made him lose the thoughts inside his mind, the plan he had wanted to stick to, leaving him swimming in an open sea. Until a familiar voice broke the silence.

“You’re late,” Russia said. “I had to tell the cook to skip the appetiser.”

Prussia clenched his hands and felt cold sweat. He tried to wipe them on his trousers as secretly as possible. He turned his head and his eyes found Russia sitting at the table, swirling a glass of red wine, his lips pursed, his gaze darkened.

“Y-yeah..,” Prussia muttered. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’m… not really hungry anyway.”

Narrowing his eyes, he followed Russia’s movements, the lifting of his brow, the smallest tapping of his fingers. His muscles were as tense as if he were a startled rabbit wating for its opportunity to flee. Only there was no fleeing from this. _Go on_ , he told himself until he managed to make a step, then another, then another to take place opposite of Russia.

“Not hungry…?” Russia tilted his head, his blond hair following the movement, something like disappointment in his voice, and why was that? He put the glass back on the table. “You should eat. You’re losing weight… your people need you to be strong.”

Prussia shot him a dark gaze. _They’re not really my people_ , he wanted to say. _They should have been West’s… Germany’s. I haven’t felt like a real country since 1947._

Still, he kept his mouth shut, unwilling to talk about it. And wasn’t it unnecessary anyway? Why was Russia even mentioning it? Why did he want to talk in the first place? Why wasn’t he bending him over the table as he was undoubtedly planning to do?

“Are you enjoying this?”, Prussia grumbled glimpsing at the bottle of wine next to the flower vase. Was it too late to try and get drunk for this conversation, for what would follow? He stopped himself before he could ask for a glass. “I’m here, alright. We’re alone. No need to keep up this act… this… this dinner… fuck, I didn’t come here to eat and you know that.”

Russia had the gall to make a confused face. “Don’t you like stuffed cabbage? I could ask for something different.”

“What?! No.” Prussia furrowed his brows, his neck itching. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Russia really was even more of a bastard than he had thought. _Well, bad luck_ , he thought. _I’m not playing this game with you._

He got up, ignored the urge to throw his plate against the wall, and made his way around the table. To Russia. He stopped just in front of him, though, muscles refusing to go farther even though his mind was pushing, urging him to continue. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. Snorting, he clenched his teeth lowering his gaze to the floor. 

This was ridiculous. It wasn’t like he’d never had sex before, it wasn’t like he didn’t know what to do, it wasn’t even like he’d never thought about doing it with Russia before. Still, this situation, the way Prussia had to live now... it didn’t feel right, unnatural even. He didn’t want to do it, not like this. Still, he had to. Right?

“Prussia...?”, Russia whispered. He rose, the chair’s legs softly scraping over the floor, and Prussia stopped breathing. 

There was a hand grazing his cheek and he raised his head instinctively meeting Russia’s gaze. A cold shiver ran down his back, his eyes widening, the world before them blurry shapes and figures. Prussia expected him to lean forward, to pull him into a kiss, and he was sure of it, so very certain he almost leaned into the touch just to get it over with. 

However, Russia’s fingers left his cheek as suddenly as if he had burned himself and it was only then that Prussia felt the cold trails of evaporating water. Of tears. Scoffing, he rubbed his eyes and cheeks with trembling hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Why the hell was he crying?

“Why are you sad?”, Russia asked in a low, almost shaky voice and Prussia would have liked to hit him. “You’re a country again. You’re making an effort to make up for the mistakes of your past. You’re socialist now, my ally. Shouldn’t that make you happy?” 

Prussia wanted to shake his head, though he didn’t manage to do more than biting his lip trying not to sob. His emotions were a mess. His thoughts were a mess. He had no idea what Russia was meaning to say but it couldn’t be what he had said because those words were as nonsensical as they were cruel. His legs went weak and he couldn’t stand, lost his balance, reached out to hold onto something and found Russia. 

Russia caught him in an embrace petting his head as if he were some kind of dog and a part of Prussia wanted to laugh. He didn’t have the strength to pull himself back, so he just kind of lay there, mouth and nose pressed into the fabric of Russia’s pullover. 

“Don’t worry, little Prussia... they had to close the borders, it’s for your own benefit. You see, it’s just a matter of time until you’re strong again… I’ll help you.” 

_Don’t_ , Prussia thought. _I don’t need your help. I don’t want it. I don’t want this._

Still, wouldn’t it be easy to go on from here?

He took a shuddering breath fighting to stand again, to move his muscles, to push himself off of Russia’s chest. He considered kissing him but, no, that would be too intimate, too affectionate, the thought alone was scarier than everything else. He couldn’t kiss him.

Their eyes locked but the moment was too short, Russia’s thoughts unreadable, and Prussia, face twisted by frustration, didn’t let himself think. He began to unbutton his shirt, the movements hasty, unsteady, and he could hardly feel the buttons he pushed through their respective holes. He didn’t feel cold. He didn’t feel. He followed directions provided by his mind and it didn’t matter what they were because he was going to carry them out anyway and he was going to be fine.

He felt Russia’s eyes on his skin, a tingling sensation reaching through his body with cold hands. Neither of them raised their voice but Prussia could hear his own breathing in his ears, shaky, small gasps. A shiver ran down his spine after he had opened the last button, his chest and stomach exposed. Without looking at Russia he cast off the last remnants of his shirt and it felt a bit like losing your grip on the cliff you were dangling from. It fell to the floor and out of his consciousness.

Prussia went over to opening his trousers pulling them down and jerking his hips to make them fall down more quickly until he was able to step out of them. It was only when his hands hovered above the edges of his briefs that he hesitated, gaze flickering upwards despite himself.

Russia was staring at him. Of course, he was. It wasn’t quite the gaze Prussia had expected, though. His face was red and the colour wasn’t flattering him, instead making him look as if he had a fever or an especially bad sunburn. His pupils were dilated, big enough to swallow the colour of his eyes, and there was something like desire deep within them, though as Prussia kept looking, it was wavering, hiding as if being pushed away. There was confusion, still, maybe even more than before, and shouldn’t that have made him think?

However, Prussia hadn’t come this far to give up that easily. He let his eyes wander to the zipper of Russia’s trousers, breathing through his nose because his teeth were clenched. He furrowed his brows swallowing hard. Should he get on his knees and try to blow him? That should get him hard enough nice and fast. From there it shouldn’t take too long to make him come and, who knew, that might be enough for him. Maybe Prussia would be allowed to leave afterwards.

Though, he was already tasting bile in the back of his throat, his breathing shallow and his mind dizzy as if the oxygen didn’t even reach his lungs but fled from him as soon as he tried to keep it. He didn’t need another reason to choke and there was no way he would be able to suck a dick for longer than ten seconds without blacking out at this rate. Well, something else then.

Prussia stepped forward, gaze fixed at the tense line of Russia’s neck which disappeared in the collar of his pullover. Wasn’t it pathetic how he couldn’t look into his eyes? How had he, once a proud and mighty kingdom, ended up in this situation?

He sighed inaudibly and pressed his hands against the lower part of Russia’s stomach, pausing, bracing himself, feeling taut muscles and warmth, and wasn’t that ironic when a big part of his country was an icy hell? It was almost enough to make him laugh.

When Prussia opened the button of Russia’s trousers, he held his breath. He didn’t let himself stop, though, didn’t let his mind wander astray because he knew if he did he wouldn’t be able to continue. He hooked two fingers into Russia’s boxers, then slid his whole hand downward following the path of soft hair to what was an already half-hard dick, not as big as he had feared luckily. It twitched when he gave it a tentative squeeze and he couldn’t help but snort. Somewhere at the borders of his consciousness he could hear Russia hiss in a strangled, throaty way.

“You’re seriously turned on by this…,” Prussia muttered, half chuckling, half grimacing, and he had never felt less like having sex. It didn’t even feel real, as if a part of him wasn’t with him but had stayed behind in his room, had perhaps even stayed behind to never merge with him again.

Pushing those thoughts away, he began to stroke Russia and a humourless grin ran over his face when he felt him hardening even more almost immediately. This was way too easy. _How long since you’ve last jacked off?_ , Prussia thought, his mouth too dry to speak, glaring at the half-opened zipper, its metal reflecting part of the chandelier’s light. _Or maybe you let other people do it for you, great, mighty Soviet Union… shouldn’t be too difficult for you._

He blinked hastily when he felt tears gathering in the corners of his eyes again and he might have squeezed Russia’s balls a bit too much in his struggle not to cry out loud. His heart was fluttering in his chest as if trying to fly away, its beat a racing mess.

It wasn’t even close to the best hand job he’d ever given but he must have done something right because Russia was panting more audibly now, the head of his cock swollen and slick with precum. Prussia wasn’t trying to focus on the sounds he made, he didn’t try to focus on him at all in all honesty, though as he let his hand rest for a second or two, the muscles in his lower arm already stiff, there was a change he noticed.

“P-prussia…,” Russia mumbled, his voice hoarse and almost low enough to melt into the sound of their loud breathing. Prussia froze and didn’t look at him because he couldn’t, he couldn’t. It would make him realise that this situation was happening, that they were here and they were doing this, and he would hate himself even more than he already did. Still, he listened.

“Do you… enjoy… this…? It makes you feel better, y-yeah?”

“What?!” Prussia barely managed not to growl, a wave of anger flooding his body. A tear escaped his eye, ran down his cheek and mingled with the sweat in his neck. “Now you’re worried about my feelings? Yeah, I totally want this! This is my happy face. You said it yourself. Why shouldn’t I be happy?”

Russia gave a shuddering moan when Prussia’s hand left his pulsing dick. His voice was barely more than a whisper, an afterthought really. Perhaps it wasn’t even intended for Prussia to hear. “… y-you don’t… look h-happy…”

“Sit down,” Prussia snapped, unwilling to hear any more words from him, his body too hot and too cold at the same time. He pushed against Russia’s chest to make him stumble backward until he fell onto the chair and Prussia got a glimpse of his flushed face, his eyes overcast and distant. As if he wasn’t quite here as well, and wasn’t that crazy when it was him who must have planned this from the start?

_Fuck you_ , Prussia thought, lips quivering, his throat constricted, and even only thinking it made him feel better. This was Russia’s fault through and through, he had no right to… to…

Prussia shook his head making himself go forward. He pulled the zipper of Russia’s trousers all the way open, then pulling his boxers down to expose the reddish, twitching length of his erection. He paused swallowing hard. It did look a bit bigger beneath the lamp’s light. Though, there was no going back now, was there?

“P-prussia…?”, Russia whispered again sounding almost puzzled.

_Shut up_ , Prussia thought clenching his hands before taking a deep breath. He wanted to cry. He wanted to shake Russia and ask him why he made him do this, why he had to behave this strangely. And he really, really wanted to make him shut the fuck up.

There was no lube to get and if there was Prussia didn’t want to ask. Instead, he spit into his hand trying to slick Russia’s dick up a bit more, as much as possible at least. Not the best circumstances, but what did he expect anyway? Still, there was comfort in knowing this was his decision, as much as it could have been his. Maybe he would even be able to look himself into the eyes again afterwards.

When he lost the last bit of clothing he had been wearing and climbed on Russia’s lap, fingers digging into his shoulders, groaning as he lowered himself onto his cock, Prussia couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t a bit masochistic after all.

He didn’t know how much time he spent there riding Russia, listening to both their panting, to his trembling heartbeat, to the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere behind him, and he didn’t really care. He just wanted to get it over with. He forgot everything the moment he felt Russia arching, his hips jerking as he came, and there was relief first and foremost.

Prussia grimaced when he rose even though he hardly felt any pain. He knew it would come, later, the aching in every part of his body, the soreness, and he knew he would lie in bed with open eyes, unable to sleep, hating Russia and hating the GDR and hating himself first and foremost. Now, though, he didn’t think, instead gathering up his clothes from the floor and dressing himself as fast as he could.

He didn’t wait for Russia to say something when he left the room.

~


End file.
